by T. C. Edge
His lips break again, eyes like slits, snakelike.
"Good girl, Amber," slithers his voice. "You have made a wise choice."
24
I spend the next hour alone, the Overseer leaving me to contemplate my decision. A decision that, we both know, wasn't really a decision at all.
Leaving the images of Jude and Lilly on the screen, he departs, telling me that High Worthy Marlow will be my personal attendant for the time being. The bald man briefly enters as the Overseer leaves, standing as submissively as he did before, asking if there's anything he can do for me.
I have a hundred questions still, but merely shake my head blankly, refusing to make eye contact with the man. I hear him slip quietly from the room, shutting the door tight. I don't hear him lock it, and assume that the Overseer told him such a thing wasn't necessary anymore.
No, I'll do what they tell me. I have become as much a slave here as anyone.
The hour passes by in a haze of introspection and self-rebuke, tempered by the feeling that, perhaps, none of this has been within my control. I consider the Overseer's words and their implication; the idea that my coming here, and the events that led me to this point, had already been foreseen, if loosely so.
Grandma spoke before of foresight within Olympus. I wonder, as I sit on the bed and wander to the window, as I gaze absently up at the frescoes, whether she had any idea that this might happen. And, even if she did, would she have had any power to stop it?
My thoughts wander, rambling off down different tracks and paths. I consider the depth of the power inside me, wonder just why they're so interested in forcing me to comply. Am I really capable of becoming one of the Chosen? What would life be like at the side of the Prime, raised up onto a pedestal above all the people of Olympus? Would I eventually fall to such a lure? Would I become the very thing I've so long despised?
I ponder such things, my mind directionless, speculating over things I have no control over. And in such a thought comes a feeling of liberation, a freeing of the responsibility of my actions. For as long as I can remember, I've resented the world I live in, knowing the truth that is so concealed from my people. Now, hearing that very thing from the Overseer's lips, being told that I have no choice but to do as they desire of me, to protect my sister, save my best friend...well, somehow, that helps settle my mind. It provides direction. It almost gives me...purpose.
Eventually, I hear a knock at the door once again. Standing at the window, gazing out upon the city, I turn and find Marlow reappearing. He holds, in his hands, a cloak of crimson, shimmering slightly under the light of the sun, pouring in through the window. He approaches me with his head bowed, hands outstretched, the fabric lightly draped upon his palms.
"This is to be your robe, my Lady," he says. "It is the garb of all Fire-Bloods, capable of withstanding heat and fire. It will never burn or scorch. Please, put it on, and follow me."
I take the robe from Marlow's hands, and quickly draw off the one I'm already wearing. He swivels quickly on the spot to avoid looking at my exposed flesh, though probably got a good look during the ceremony. Pulling the robe on, I feel it fall like soft waves down my body, more silken and comfortable than anything I've ever worn.
Marlow rushes to the panel on the wall, dismissing the image of Jude and Lilly, replacing them with a mirror. I feel a pinch of longing in my gut as their images fade away, the one that replaces them such a contrast; a reflection of the opulent chamber, me standing there in the middle. The wondrous crimson robes, so vibrant against my tanned skin, my golden hair.
I stare at myself for an extended time. I look like one of them.
I...am one of them.
"You look a vision, Lady Amber," says Marlow. "Truly beautiful."
I nod absently as I stare at myself. At the flowing curls of hair, rolling down my neck. At the gentle shimmering of the robe itself, as if it's already flaming. At the stunning working of the fabric, the subtle colour variations, the majestic way in which it catches the light.
I do look divine, draped in this garb. And I do look beautiful.
It's not something I generally consider about myself, nor something I tend to care much about. I live my life dressed in rugged winter clothing during the colder months, and loose-fitting shirts and shorts during the warmer ones. My clothing is commonly ripped and torn, often stained. I give no thought to dressing up for the collection ceremony as Lilly and many of the residents of Pine Lake do. I haven't once beseeched mother to try to fashion me a colourful dress that will accentuate my features and colouring, make me look prettier.
But this...
This is something else. Something functional, and yet incredibly fetching to the eye as well. Fabric that shines as if with its own inner radiance, that wraps me up like it was always meant to embrace me. I stand, and stare, and feel an uncomfortable level of rightness as I look upon myself.
And that, in itself, is oh so wrong.
I turn eventually from my reflection, setting my eyes back on Marlow. He smiles at me, that same affected look he has mastered, though subtly different from the one he adopted when he met me yesterday. Then, he'd looked almost through me, so indifferent to my plight. Now, his smile is one practiced for the use of his superiors, for the Children of the Prime whom he serves.
I guess I'm going to have to get used to that, I think.
"My Lady, are you ready to go?" he asks me politely.
"Where?" I return, glancing at my reflection again. "I'm not staying in this room?"
"No, Lady Amber," he tells me. "This chamber is a temporary accommodation. You were brought here yesterday afternoon after the...the ceremony." He shuffles awkwardly. "Should you win the trials, you will be granted far grander chambers. It is a wondrous honour to even be considered as a candidate for the Chosen. Should someone else be selected ahead of you, you will, of course, still be considered as a high ranked Daughter of the Prime."
He speaks with great passion, as though trying to convince me to be excited by all of this. My rather blank stare confirms that I'm not.
"And these trials?" I say. "What do they entail?"
"Ah, well that is beyond my remit. The trials will be different depending upon which type of Chosen is being selected. The Prime intends on discovering the most powerful, the most gifted, of all types of divinities. Fire-Bloods are a rare breed, and there is an opening to replace Master Prost..."
"Replace?" I ask, my interest piquing. "There was already a Chosen Fire-Blood?"
Marlow nods.
"What happened?"
"A great tragedy," says Marlow. "Master Prost, unfortunately, perished several months ago."
"How?" I ask, stepping in a little. "Was he killed?"
"I...don't know, I'm afraid. I believe he was on assignment beyond the city..."
"Assignment? The Chosen have assignments?"
"Um, well, again that isn't something I know a lot about. I apologise for not being of greater help. My place here is mostly dealing with the Worthy, and I don't tend to deal directly with any matters of such importance." He dips his chin in respect. "It is, however, a great honour to be aiding you in transitioning. I do hope I can be of better assistance in the future. And I wish you all the very best in the trials to come."
"Sure," I mutter. "Yesterday, you were heartlessly describing how I was to be 'purified' for my sins and heresy. Now you're giving me your full support in joining the Chosen. Strange, that."
His eyes reframe awkwardly, looking down to his feet. I feel a touch of guilt at torturing the man. He's a slave here like I am. I shouldn't make him feel bad about himself, merely to make myself feel better.
"Sorry," I say. "You're just doing your job, I guess."
His eyes come back up, a gentle smile on his face. "Thank you, my Lady. I will try to never disappoint you again."
I smile back, but even those are words I don't want to hear. Some, perhaps, are born wishing they could be served and worshipped. I was just born, wishing to live free.
"Right, so where are you taking me then?" I glance around the room. "If I'm not staying here, where am I staying?"
"I have been ordered to escort you to the Temple of Fire. You shall be based there during the trials."
The Temple of Fire. Sounds homely.
"And, I should give you fair warning, Lady Amber," Marlow goes on, glancing to the door. "You have also been assigned a military attache. I noticed some animosity between you two before, so thought you ought to know beforehand..."
"Krun," I grunt. "That oaf's been assigned to me?"
"I'm afraid so, yes. Only temporarily, of course."
"Why? Because I'm thought to be dangerous or something? I assure you, Marlow, I'm going to play ball. I won't cause problems. In fact, I'm more likely to with that brute tracing my step."
"I'm sure of it," responds Marlow, managing a more playful smile. "I'm sure if you prove yourself, Captain Krun will no longer trouble you."
Smart, I think. Just another reason for me to act nice.
"Fine," I say, pulling in a breath. "Lead the way then."
We head for the door, Marlow pulling it open and revealing the grand corridor beyond. A little way down, a significant form looms, back against the stone wall, trunk-like legs crossed over one another. He turns as the door grinds open, his posture reforging into a more upright stance.
Though he doesn't exactly stand to attention, there's definitely something different about the way he carries himself too. I doubt Captain Krun will be calling me 'Fringe rat' anymore.
He stays silent as we approach, caught somewhere between hating me and needing to show me the proper respect as befitting my new station. I wonder how often people like me ascend so quickly. I know that, occasionally, people from the Fringe, or further beyond, will be brought to Olympus, found by the Heralds of Awakening and invited to live among the Children of the Prime.
But, to be considered for selection as a Chosen? To have even been partly responsible for the deaths of several of the residents of the city, and yet still be given this preferential treatment?
Such a thing must be rare indeed. And though the likes of lowly Marlow will defer to me from now on, someone of a higher station like Krun likely resents having to show me any sort of respect at all.
Evidently, his way of managing that is by remaining quiet. All he does is nod briefly at me, before turning his mighty frame off down the corridor, all but blocking the way beyond. Then, he begins lumbering off, Marlow and I following in his wake.
We work towards a spiral staircase, winding down through the centre of this stone building. Half a dozen floors down, we reach another series of corridors and larger foyers, all beautifully carved and decorated, wide and open and something that will take some time to get used to. The simplicity of my life back home hasn't prepared me for this. At all angles, I'm being assaulted by staggering depictions of a city unique in world history, and unmatched in its varied beauty.
A carriage awaits us, more fine than before. I glance to the front and, to my surprise, find no rugged men ready to pull us along. Krun reaches out a thick-fingered hand and draws back the thick, luxurious curtain.
Inside, I find another soldier waiting, one I faintly recognise from Herald Perses's troop from the desertlands beyond the city. He sits in a separate chair at the front, an interior driver's seat by the looks of things, a window ahead providing a view to the street beyond.
He nods to Krun, who appears to be his superior, as the lumbering giant climbs aboard and beckons for Marlow and I to do the same. Marlow, showing a shred of something I might term as 'endearing', seems excited by the prospect of travelling within this carriage, more akin to the sort that Collector Ceres uses to travel out to the western edges of the Fringe.
I take a seat on a soft-cushioned bench, Marlow beside me. Ahead, Krun sits, filling the space, with the unnamed soldier facing forward. I watch him closely, guiding my gaze past Krun's enormous frame, waiting to see what he'll do. A second later, we start moving, the carriage rolling off over the stone cobbles. The driver does nothing but sit there, using the telekinetic power of his mind alone to move us.
The journey is nothing if not uncomfortable. Not physically - no, this is about as comfortable a way as a person could travel - but socially.
Krun, refusing to acknowledge my new eminence, as he obviously is, sits there with his dumb, deepset eyes crafted into a frown and looking steadfastly away from me. Marlow, seemingly feeling like he should act arbiter, but not having the authority to do so with two people so much higher in rank than he is, clears his throat occasionally as if trying to lighten the tension, but fails to ever deliver anything of note.
Instead, he ends up trying to educate me on the city as we go, which isn't the easiest thing to do from this vantage. Reaching across, he draws back the curtain and hooks it to one side, explaining to me that this central region of the city is populated by higher ranked Children of the Prime, and famed for its great food and places to eat.
Food that, I know, is gathered in the form of tribute from the Fringe. Places to eat that, I know, are managed and operated by the Worthy.
I decide not to comment, and merely turn away.
Marlow doesn't take the hint, and continues my education, though is quickly halted by Krun who grunts at him to shut the curtain. It seems that my presence is drawing a few looks, not all of them overly friendly.
Perhaps people aren't fully in agreement about the treatment I'm getting. Maybe some lost friends, or even family members, to my little outburst the previous day.
Or, more likely, they're merely like Krun, unable to accept that someone like me might just be one of them. Or, better yet...more than they are.
The ride goes on, gently descending off from the central hill within the city, winding off in some unknown direction. Ten minutes turn to twenty. The sounds and smells beyond the curtain fade off, the rattling of wheels echoing more loudly as we venture into less populated regions.
Finally, we stop, and step out of the wagon. I find the grander buildings of the city, and the great hill at its core, off in the distance, somewhere south of our position. I get an immediate sense that the gate we entered through when I was first brought here is off in that direction. That we have ventured to the north, into the outer reaches of the city that, it seems, continues to press on much further than I ever imagined it could.
There, in the north, the suggestion of the city walls rise up, though appear less grand than the front bastion to the south. It is the back door, less guarded, less under threat, less required to intimidate from the sheer scale of its facade.
And closer, much closer, I see a temple, surrounded by a huge courtyard, populated by statues of men and women wielding fire. Elementals, Fire-Bloods, wreathed in flame, directing its course, bending it to their will.
And among those statues, hovering around the front of the Temple of Fire, I see the men and women who inspire them. The true Fire-Bloods, draped in their crimson robes, shimmering under the continuous barrage of the warm afternoon sun.
The potentials. Those selected for the trials.
My competition.
25
Eyes gather on me as I approach from the carriage, escorted by Marlow, chaperoned by Krun. The Fire-Bloods, numbering at least a dozen, each seem to come with their own personal High Worthy, cheerleaders and servants there to attend their needs. Most are men, but some are women. I notice that even those are bald.
The eyes are not friendly. They regard me with quite the opposite emotion.
I am an imposter, the subject of a so-called prophesy. Who knows how long these people have wished for this opportunity, one they probably thought would never come. Yet here I am, a murderer of their own people, given the chance to compete. I look at them and know, before I even draw close, that no one is going to make my life easy here.
That Marlow, oddly, might just be the only friend I have now.
I feel a sudden weight of nerves settle upon my shoulder
s as I draw near, a growing silence coming with me. All conversations halt as I cross the courtyard, heading for the entrance to the temple, similar in general shape and size to that of the Prime, but more colourful in its external decoration. Red, as expected, dominates, the building shading darker as it looms higher, topped with orange and yellow areas as if to depict the flame.
And those coloured blocks, they seem to shimmer too, much like the cloaks of the Fire-Bloods themselves. The entire temple, in fact, appears to dance under the light, the building seeming as a living presence all unto itself.
"I'm staying...there?" I whisper quietly to Marlow as we step near, my words tinged with nerves. I scan across the waiting Fire-Bloods. "With...them?"
"Yes," responds the High Worthy softly. "But don't worry, Lady Amber, I will be close at all times." He draws my gaze to a supporting building nearby, clearly intended for the use of the Worthy assigned to this place, and these people. "I shall stay there for the time-being. If you need me, just call."
We go on, Krun lingering to one side as he tends to do, his positioning always evidenced by his heavy stamp and equally powerful stench, even if I can't visibly see him. Ahead, the expressions of the Fire-Blood potentials shape more menacingly, several muttering words I can't hear, though can probably guess their meaning.
I ignore them, trying not to look into individual faces, my peripheral vision merely taking in the shimmering display of red-cloaked bodies, standing like statues as they watch me approach.
A moment later, we're coming up towards the steps of the temple, figures hovering around the courtyard at the bottom and upon the lowest steps. Above, at the entrance to the building, I see a figure emerge from the cool shade within, his cloak multi-coloured - red and blue and with lining of gold - his sharp features regarding the gathering with a gleeful expression.
The Overseer steps out, and finally the eyes upon me relent. All turn towards him, the muttering insults towards me fading into silence, a reverence for the man, and occasion, taking over. I suspect that the Overseer supersedes all those in attendance in rank, though that may change soon. One here among this group will ascend to the rank of the Chosen. He, or she, will stand above all the rest.